To Willing Conflators Of A Vancouver Family Man Surviving The Great Depression And Jeremy Todd (only known letter)


Hey Buddies.
What I make a week ain’t enough to get by in this godforsaken town, not with the wife and two kids god bless them, but it’s all I’ve got to work with. Some get three times or more what I do for the same gig, but I guess somebody just doesn’t like me, so I’ve sat down at the kitchen table and I’ve decided to figure something out, and I gotta tell you, I’m pulling it off too. I’ve come up with a scheme that’s taken on a life of it’s own. Hell, for all I know I might’ve birthed the Raffle-Your-Paycheck Plan. There’s a couple of non-descript casino bars just off the skytrain.  I’m going in and selling 50 raffle tickets on my cheque, at $100 a shot. Jesus, these wanna-be real estate moguls and German auto-leasing, web-surfing, suburban-wanna-be speculative investors have a bit of jack put aside for their fantasy outings. They can sit there and play slots all day and night, with the odd jolt of roulette can’t they?  A 50-to-1 shot for $100 is not bad at all.
I’ve been keeping it pretty quiet, but I just found out I’ve been selling tickets to a couple of detectives since I started and they haven’t done a thing about it. Like every other desperado around here, they just wannna win and make some very pressing problems go away. I have these old school poker chips, each with a number in permanent marker. A guy draws one and I write his name down along with the number. Then, when they’re all gone, I get one of the waitresses or a floor manager to draw for me. I’ve been putting out and people can see I’m not being too greedy – just a bit more than doubling up – and I never sell over 50 tickets. No chip draw has been over 50 and everyone knows it.
I’m telling you, my double up is the only thing keeping us off the goddamn streets right now.